


Fight for the living

by Estclee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Dany, Eventual Cersei vs Daenerys showdown, F/M, Fix It Fic, Honour, Hurt/Comfort, I'm still sobbing, Introspection, Oaths, Post 8.04, Stark Family, Teamwork, because it's a mess, but not TOO dark, but then fluff, d&d made me do this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estclee/pseuds/Estclee
Summary: Set after 8.04. On his way to King's Landing, Jaime finds someone who makes him realise there is something worth living for.Trying to fix whatever happened in the last three episodes. The single chapters are based around a character's pov.





	1. Jaime I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!  
> I'm still broken over how the show ended, so I really wanted to try and fix this mess. This fic comes from a fantastic idea by Sonia (@keepmylegos on twitter) that I gladly developed. I finally gathered the courage to write about Game of Thrones!  
> This first chapter revolves around Jaime, who will basically be the protagonist of the whole fic.  
> Enjoy!

The wintry night was quiet, its heavy silence only tarnished by the faint sound of the stallion’s hooves galloping fast along the kingsroad.

Icy crystals were forming on Jaime’s eyelashes, hindering his vision and making it hard for him to blink, but he didn’t feel the bite of the cold: under the short beard, his cheeks were burning madly, reminding him constantly of the gentle hands that were holding him just a moment before.

_You’re a good man._

He tightened his grip around the reins, forcing himself to push away the memory of the warm touch he had come to know, to need, to crave every day during the previous month; but the heat from her hands stayed still, warming his face, and slowly spread through him, reaching every part of his body. Unbidden, a pair of blue eyes clouded his mind further, threatening to shatter his resolve and make him turn around on the spot.

Jaime shut his eyes tight, shaking his head until he could hear nothing but his own broken voice echo through his mind.

_She’s hateful, and so am I._

He spurred his horse, ignoring the tears that were beginning to blur his sight.

 

–

 

He wasn’t sure how long had passed since he’d left Winterfell, but he’d ridden past the Eyrie and along the Trident; he had to have been travelling for at least a fortnight, he thought as he made his way to Harroway.

The thin coat of ice on the surface of the Trident was starting to crack into smaller pieces, melting away as the river flowed effortlessly downwards. Jaime marvelled at the soft treatment the winter gave to the Riverlands: in the North, all the lakes and watercourses were still frozen, hidden away under a layer of white snow, and the white winds blew regularly, strong and relentless.

He remembered a day, not long after the Long Night, when he’d been dragged outside to have a ride around the castle. The frozen surface of a pond, disguised as a path by the snow all over it, had made Jaime’s horse slip and so he’d fallen off, face first into a soft white heap. He remembered the cold he’d felt as he had sat up, light snowflakes smeared all over his face, and then a laugh, light and open. Still sitting on the ground, he had looked up to find a gloved hand stretched out towards him; he remembered taking it, laughing in return, losing himself in that endless blue gaze as he’d stood up. He remembered the warmth of that hand, and then a voice, asking if he was alright. He remembered a kiss.

And now there was a knot tying his throat, an unbearable feeling surging in his chest as he rode through a dull, barren land to meet his fate. There were no remnants of the snowy winter, no trace of Winterfell around him.

He wished he could say the same about his heart.

 

Harroway was quite a big town, filled with people who were walking around living their lives as though the world hadn’t been just about to end one moon before. Jaime stopped, breathing in and stretching his back as he observed the place; the grey light of the sun filtering through the clouds emphasised the quiet of the surrounding scenery, making him somewhat restless as he felt his inner turmoil even more exposed. He fidgeted in his horse, pondering whether it would be wise to stop for a while; he needed some rest, but he had the feeling that if he didn’t hurry, he might not make it to his sister in time.

His breathing became shallow at the thought of her, her narrowed green eyes as she looked at him with disdain, the short golden hair, spoiled by the heavy crown that was always there, and the perfect features set softly over an odious face.

_I must really be the stupidest Lannister, after all._

He gritted his teeth as something inside him screamed to fuck it all, to turn his horse around and go back to that damned cold place where the Wolves were likely to eat him alive.

But he couldn’t.

The war hovered upon King’s Landing, the Dragon itched to unleash her power and conquer what was hers; Cersei wouldn’t survive, his sweet, foolish sister would never surrender.

If she had to die, if his child had to die before being born, how could Jaime have fooled himself into thinking he deserved anything else? Why would the gods want him to belong amongst the living? That was a place for the brave, for the just, like Jon Snow and the rest of the Starks. For his brother, perhaps, and Podrick; for the honourable warriors from Westeros and Essos.

That was a place for _her_ , Jaime thought.

He tied the bay horse near the entrance of a battered inn, making sure to hide his stump under the thick cloak; he had taken off the golden hand before leaving, but the maimed limb was enough of a tell about him as it was.

The place had suffered the hardship of winter, he could tell; the wooden walls were worn out and a part of the roof was falling to pieces, leaving a rather big hole covered clumsily by a piece of tarp. The high ceiling hinted that before being turned into an inn, it had been a barn.

Inside, a mass of people were scattered all over, occupying almost every table; the air was merry, as if the crowd was having a celebration of some sort.

Walking in, Jaime realised he was exhausted: his legs threatened to give out any minute and as he approached the innkeeper he had to lean against the counter for support.

“Boy, you look like a ghost. Where are you coming from, lone traveller?” the woman in front of him spoke in a melodic voice, bringing Jaime’s tired eyes to meet her face. Her small nose and cheekbones were covered by light freckles and she kept her fair, unruly hair buried under a green band, tied just behind the nape of her neck. Her eyes were warm, cat-like and surrounded by crow’s feet as she regarded him with friendliness.

“Ah, the North”, he answered hesitantly, accepting the bowl of stew she promptly offered him. As the words left his mouth, it occurred to him that he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days; not after that cursed night, when he had broken the one thing he had done right in his life, tossing it away as if it were stale bread.

_Please, stay._

“Oh! Have you fought in the battle, too? Some soldiers stopped here some days ago, they told some beautiful tales of how they fought bravely against an army of dead men. Rough people, the Northerners, and gruff; not even my turnip stew could melt their hearts.”

Jaime swallowed, his fist clenching around the wooden spoon. So the Northerners were there only days before… he had to be careful; those were men he knew, he had fought and worked with. If they had seen him…

Despite his lack of a response, the woman kept talking. “So, will you be staying for the night, as well? For a handsome face like yours, I could well reserve the best room”, she winked.

“It won’t be necessary”, he mused, waving off the compliment. “I intend to leave after having a meal. I have business in the capital.”

“Oh, I see. I haven’t ever been to King’s Landing, but the people from Harroway say it’s breathtaking.”

_I suppose it will be breathtaking for me, quite literally._

His mind trailed off, and he started wondering how long he ought to wait before riding further south to avoid running into the soldiers, when a single word dragged him out of his thoughts.

“Are you a knight as well, ser?”

Jaime flinched. A sudden twinge hit sharp through his chest like a dagger and left him breathless.

His eyes only widened slightly in response, but he felt as if he were agonizing on the floor, grasping for air. That single, cursed word brought before him everything he had struggled to become, everything he wasn’t and wouldn’t ever be. It was such a wasted title on him, a breaker of oaths, a weak little man with no honour.

Instead, the most deserving of that title, the only one who had seen honour in him where there was none, the one who had accepted him and cared for him, craven and broken as he was, had to live the rest of her life knowing that the man who had knighted her was that monster, the same monster who had left her alone to cry in the middle of the night.

Jaime had ruined her. He had made her dream come true, yes, but then he had left, shamelessly betraying her trust. He cursed himself for ever thinking he had the right to make her a knight; he, who was half the person she was, maybe less than that. Her lifelong dream had come true thanks to a monster and every day for the rest of her life she would be reminded of that. All because of his selfish desire to see her smile at him, the need to make her happy in what he had thought would be his last day on earth.

He remembered the look in her eyes when she had risen, so full of gratitude and charged with the years of history between them, of moments together and excruciating goodbyes and years apart; he had forgotten about everyone else in that bloody hall, then. Everything had been annihilated by those wonderful sapphire eyes fixed on his and for a moment, he had felt as if nothing except for the two of them mattered any longer.

Now, every time she was rightfully addressed as ‘ser’, every time she wielded the sword he’d given her, she would remember that she’d put her unwavering faith in a man who didn’t deserve it. Who didn’t deserve her.

He wanted to throw up.

He slammed his left fist on the counter, startling the woman, and without deigning to answer her, he made his way to the furthest table he could manage to find. There, surrounded by reassuring obscurity, he dropped on a chair and buried his face in his hand, breathing heavily and feeling droplets of sweat tumble down his brow. He didn’t dare utter a sound; had he allowed himself to, he knew he would have screamed louder than when his hand had been cut off.

Alone in that farmhouse full of people, he closed his eyes, wanting everything to end, to disappear. Wanting to drown into that blue gaze he had for years longed for.

 

“Stand up, warrior.”

Distracted by the storm stirring inside him, Jaime didn’t realise right away that the remark was aimed at him; the voice had to repeat itself, low and hoarse but unshaken. He lifted his head to find a young woman, pale as the winter moon, standing at the other end of the table, across from him. She was short and held a fierce, challenging posture, somewhat reminding him of Arya Stark, but her smooth, black hair came down loose, reaching below her waist, where her red linen tunic was tightly kept together by a leather band. There was a faint smile on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes, dark and shiny as splinters of dragonglass; they were confident but, Jaime could see, held a hint of sorrow. Judging by her looks, she couldn’t have been past her twentieth year.

The last thing he wanted was to engage in conversation, so he simply ignored her, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his hand.

Long, bony fingers reached for his chin and tilted his head up, coercing him to meet the girl’s gaze once again. “I said stand up. I wouldn’t say it is so hard a task.”

“And who would you be, lady, if I may? I’m not inclined to follow the orders of any stranger that approaches me”, he said warily, freeing himself from her grip.

Her lips, red as her tunic, curled upwards. “Oh, I know. The famed Golden Lion has well earned his title, after all.”

By reflex, Jaime hid his right arm under the table. _She knows who I am?_

Trying not to show his rising panic, he spoke calmly. “I see you know me. I am afraid I don’t know you, though. It would only be fair if you were so kind as to tell me your name.”

“Dorlene. Dorlene the Doomed is what they call me”, she huffed, almost annoyed. “Tell me, ser Jaime. Are you so reluctant to stand because you are an old man?”

Jaime blinked at her voice, candid and brimming with mockery. Her face was now only inches apart from his, and the maiden’s eyes were glistening, swallowing him whole in their darkness. Before he could answer her, though, she continued; “I wished for our fateful meeting to be more solemn, but I see you had to ruin this, too.” She swiftly sat down on a stool in front of him. “Your deep green eyes are hurt, Lion.”

“Lady, might I ask what it is you want from me? I was trying to find some peace in my mealtime.”

“You will not find peace if you keep riding south. You will die amongst the rubble.”

Jaime swallowed. How could she know where he was going? “Well, as far as I know, King’s Landing still stands; it won’t fall just any day.”

“That is what the Lioness will say in a fortnight’s time. She does not know Death is upon her, in the shape of fire and blood.”

“You are speaking as if you are certain of something that hasn’t yet occurred.”

“Because I am.”

“How so?”

“I see… things. I see events that have yet to happen, and those which have happened in the past; and in exchange for this gift, my dreams tell me what I must do to help others fulfil their destiny – I am indeed doomed to be of assistance. My dreams have chosen you.”

Jaime would have laughed, if he weren’t feeling so miserable. _Why would anyone’s dreams want to help me, when I don’t even want to help myself?_

He couldn’t find the strength to reply to her foolish lies, instead choosing to ignore her once more.

The raven-haired girl eyed him with that sorrowful look. Then she lifted her chin, bushy eyebrows drawn together in worry. “Why do you loathe yourself so?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched, but he held her stare.

 _I have done terrible, unforgivable things._ _I have stayed still while a monster violated his queen every night. I have watched as he burned innocent people alive, and although I did in the end move to stop him, it was much too late. I ruined the life of an innocent boy by pushing him off a bloody window. I have let my children die, I haven’t been able to stop my own sister as she slowly descended into the same madness as the king I’ve killed. I have abandoned my unborn child and survived a war that many others, more worthy of a chance at a long life than I, have not. I have then tried to live as though I deserved to, and even dared be happy._

_I hurt her._

His thoughts lingered on the last sentence as tears welled up in his eyes, but he was surprised to see that his unlikely new companion was crying her eyes out, as well. His mouth fell open.

Dorlene clutched at her belly, where a silver pendant fell from around her neck, and took the token in her hand, anxiously torturing it.

“Oh, my sweetling”, was all she said, staring at him. Her look was horrified, as though she had just witnessed the bloodiest of murders. Jaime didn’t understand: he hadn’t uttered a single word.

She lowered her eyelids, unbothered by the rivulets tracing her sharp cheekbones, took a long breath and looked him in the eye again. “You carry this much pain alone and still believe you deserve to die, don’t you.”

Jaime shivered, struggling to contain his emotion. His eyes blinked rapidly, but the tears streamed down anyway. “I’m not looking to beg for anyone’s pity”, he muttered, almost inaudibly. “I’ve long since embraced my destiny.”

“Aye, aye, I am certain you have.”

The girl’s sudden sarcasm threw him in disarray; with her face still wet by her crying, it came as a striking contradiction. He watched her, bemused by the reaction, until she changed expression once more, tilting her head on the side as if to study his features. The illegible dark gaze he felt boring into him was disturbing.

“Dying together with your sister… it would certainly be chivalrous, if it weren’t so foolish.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. Of course the old, truthful rumours had reached the ears of a daft girl from Harroway, too. He sighed. “Cersei… she’ll die. My child will die with her. How can I be deserving of life when they are not?”

As he uttered those words, he realised he was almost pleading for a response, wishing desperately for such an answer to exist.

“The Lioness has brought about her own demise. Nothing you can do will prevent their death, Lion. But she is not needed in this world. You are.”

“I am not, and I am at peace with that”, he lied.

“So you are.”

Jaime was beginning to tire of the conversation. He looked around, feigning interest in whatever activities the crowd in the inn were partaking, but still felt uncomfortable at the stare he kept feeling on himself. The following sentence came unexpectedly, like an arrow to his chest.

“But then, ser, do tell me why you cannot bring yourself to say _her_ name, be it aloud or in your own thoughts.”

The most logical thing to do would have been to ask to whom the girl was referring, but for some reason, Jaime thought it would be a pointless question. He already knew the answer, after all.

Still, having _her_ thrown abruptly into the conversation set something off, making him brusquely rise from his seat. “You… now you claim you can read my thoughts?”, he hissed, “That would make you no different from a rotten witch from the woods.”

She stood, seemingly content with the fact that he’d finally decided to forsake his own chair. “I believed we had already established my nature; I did tell you I can read past, future and I have ominous dreams.”

“Lies, all lies.”

“Are they now? Is it mayhap untrue that you aren’t able to utter the name behind those blue eyes you cherish so?”

Gooseflesh coloured Jaime’s skin.

The witch continued, unaffected by his murderous glare. “She will wait, you know. She will wait for you to return. Her faith in you does not flicker.” Her words were firm, but the tone soft, as though she genuinely meant what she was saying, and cared about it.

This inexplicably pushed Jaime to answer her. “I’m not going to survive. That will break her resolve.”

“You fool. Would it break yours, if she were the one to die?”

The thought alone was enough to turn his stomach; Jaime remained silent, as the vivid, horrifying image painted itself in his mind.

“She will wait,” Dorlene repeated, leaving her previous question unanswered. “If need be, she will wait for all of eternity, until you two can be joined again in the afterlife.”

His nails dug into the palm of his hand as he realised those words were truthful. He knew that stubborn, lovely wench well enough.

He found himself wishing he had never crossed her path, so that his imminent death wouldn’t have affected her, so that she wouldn’t be devastated at him leaving; but a dark, selfish part of him didn’t allow him to wish for that wholly.

“...But I don’t deserve that”, he finally breathed, all his built-up anger turning to dust in an instant as he broke down. “I’ve tried to make her realise, to open her eyes. I don’t deserve her affection, I never will.”

His raspy voice stuttered as he talked amongst sobs, the merriment of the inn buzzing distant in his ears.

“Lion, look up.” The girl brought a crooked finger under his chin, lifting it up again, this time more gently. “You’ve sought redemption for the better part of your life now. Can you not see? This sorrow you are enduring… isn’t it punishment enough?” Her eyes were smiling now, empathetic. “Every day you wake up striving to be better, your heart is cleansed further.”

Jaime sighed, indulging in those words for a moment, lulled by their gentleness.

“I know you wish for your lady to be happy, ser. I can see how strongly you feel about her”, Dorlene chanted, as if she had ever met her, as if she’d known every single part of their history.

He smiled tentatively, as he let the thought of her soothe his mind. “She deserves someone who won’t relinquish her so foolishly.”

“That is of little importance. What matters is what it is she wants.”

“She’ll want someone else soon enough.” _She won’t._

“She will blame herself for your death. Until the end of her days.”

Jaime froze. It hadn’t occurred to him; he hadn’t taken into consideration the possibility that she might feel guilty for being unable to stop him, to protect him.

A memory crossed his mind. Returning to King’s Landing with her, his stump still a healing wound, their horses next to one another. Her face grim as she had just learned of her lady Catelyn’s death. He remembered her being silent, only occasionally muttering _‘it’s my fault, I have failed you,_ _my lady,_ _I’m sorry’_ to herself. It had pained him to see her that way, although at the time he hadn’t realised it. He had spent the rest of their journey trying to make her react, attempting to annoy her and throwing cutting remarks her way. He suddenly felt the need to punch his younger self in the face for not realising how smitten he had been, even then.

He allowed himself to picture her, for a moment, alone at Winterfell, in the room they’d shared for a moon. His heart stopped at the thought that some day, she would learn of his death, and for some inexplicable reason she would be devastated, and she would hate herself when she shouldn’t, because it wasn’t her fault, because it would only ever be his fault.

“Ser Jaime. You have to live. Live for her, live for yourself, live, so that all men will sing of your great deeds, of the new world you will help build.”

Jaime stared at the girl, unblinking. His mind wandered to the Red Keep, to the White Swords Tower, to a lone book sitting on the round table. _Returned safely to King’s Landing by the maid of Tarth._

He still had more to write. He _wanted_ to write more.

The stew rested in the iron bowl between him and the witch, as cold as a bucket of water.

“There is still time, Lion”, Dorlene said, smiling with her eyes as if she knew what he was thinking of.

She was right. She was bloody right.

Jaime didn’t say anything. Covering his head with his dark hood, he bolted out of the door, colliding against pretty much every guest of that cursed inn on his way out.

As he reached his mount, he looked behind him, where the young girl in red had followed him.

He took a deep breath, taking in the crisp air around him. “Thank you”, he said, with a lump in his throat, and he meant it with his whole heart.

Dorlene nodded. “Run home, you foolish Lion.”

He did.

As he moved away, she raised her voice, “Ser Jaime!”

He looked back to her. “What is her name?”, she asked.

Smiling, he said in a whisper, “Her name is Brienne.”


	2. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is cold, Brienne struggles, everyone wants to beat Jaime up. Including Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with the second chapter! I'm sorry it took me so long to update, uni was killing me. Anyway, I'm done with my exams, so I will hopefully be able to focus on writing from now on.  
> Warning: in this chapter, I have written about a miscarriage. It's nothing specific and I didn't go into detail, but I know this can be a sensitive subject, so I'm putting a warning if you'd rather not read it.
> 
> As usual, thank you Sonia for your amazing idea! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Si Her steps resonated on the ground as Sansa Stark walked frantically along the hallways connecting the towers of Winterfell. Soft heaps of snow were settled on the scaffoldings, soaking the sturdy wood and darkening it as they melted.  
Almost one moon had passed since the last message from Dragonstone, with which Jon had let his sister know he had arrived safely. No ravens had come after that one; Sansa checked with Sam every day to ask if there were any news from the capital, Daenerys or Jon, but every time, none had arrived. It was unsettling and it roused bad thoughts in the back of her mind, but she had tried to ignore them: there were more urgent matters at hand.  
“Lord Royce”, she said to the man trailing behind her, “please find Samwell Tarly; we might be needing his assistance as well.”  
Royce bowed and made for the stairs, leaving the lady of Winterfell alone as she approached the sleeping quarters; her breath, uneven, escaped her lips forming small puffs as the daylight slowly dimmed, allowing the first evening stars to blotch the sky with their twinkle.  
When she found herself before the door to the room, Sansa realised she was shaking. Although wrapped tightly in the fur cloak she had sewn herself, and surrounded by thick walls, she felt small, a scared little girl all over again; for a moment, she wanted to crouch on the floor, the weight of the recent events almost too heavy on her shoulders. No one was there to see her; she didn’t have to hide her weakness. She could just lose herself for a little while, forget about everything and fall to the ground, covering her ears to block out everything that had poured over her. Crying, suffering, stopping the world around her for the briefest heartbeat.  
But she didn’t.  
Pausing in front of the heavy door, Sansa dropped her head slightly, sighing. Her vision had gone hazy with weariness, but she allowed no tears to roll down her cheeks. Instead, she closed her eyes to let images of her father, her mother, and Robb and Theon soothe her mind. _I have to be strong. For them_ , she reminded herself.  
As she thought of them, letting her sweet childhood and the warmth of her family embrace her wholly, she lifted her head, squared her shoulders and held her breath. _I am a Wolf_.  
Her knuckles, slightly reddened by the cold, knocked gently before pushing the door open. The only light coming from the chamber was the fire that crackled vividly in the fireplace; the windows were shut tight, forbidding the lingering warmth from escaping outside. Two shadows were hovering over Brienne’s bed as she approached it, aching with worry.  
“How is she? Has she woken?” she asked, fetching a chair to sit near the bed.  
Podrick Payne was standing warily, as though he had just entered the room, but she knew he’d been staying there for the whole day. His face was grim, showing hints of concern and tiredness and helplessness as he met her gaze. “She hasn’t, my lady. Her breathing has steadied, but the maester says it’s the effect of the dreamwine.”  
The chain around the maester’s neck tinkled as he bent over Brienne’s unconscious body, dampening her forehead with a wet cloth. “She is still feverish. Podrick has called me here when he noticed her thrashing in her sleep; she was in pain, so I had her drink some dreamwine to numb the turmoil caused by her nightmares, but I fear it won’t be enough. We might have to resort to stronger measures; I asked my assistant to ready some milk of the poppy, though it may be dangerous in her condition.”  
Sansa listened carefully to those words, alarming as they were; having no knowledge of how to handle the situation, she found herself helpless. She took Brienne’s hand in hers, attempting to transmit her presence to her. It was hot and damp with sweat.  
Brienne had been laid on her bed after she’d fainted during a sparring session with the younger men, ten and two days before, and she’d been in deep slumber since. When the maester had figured out the cause, he had worked day and night, together with Samwell, to find a cure for the fever and to keep her alive in the process. The situation hadn’t really improved with time, which made Sansa more and more agitated every day, but Brienne was a fighter and, even as she was unconscious, she refused to let the illness take over.  
“She’s strong, I know she is. She’ll wake”, Sansa declared, firmly gripping her hand. She examined the sleeping figure with her eyes; she was sweating copiously, though the wet cloth on her forehead was supposed to ease the fever. Her eyes were screwed shut, but the fair lashes fluttered restlessly and her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown; whatever she was dreaming of, it was not peaceful.  
Pod smiled faintly across from her, while the maester slowly caressed his beard, sitting against the backrest of his chair and thinking. “She is, I’m certain. And she has some valuable friends watching over her, so I wouldn’t worry too much”, he said, looking over toward the squire and then her. Sansa knew the man was just saying that to ease her preoccupation, and she couldn’t decide whether to be irritated or grateful.  
“Isn’t the place too warm? Should we open the windows, let some fresh air in? Won’t she feel overwhelmed by the heat?” she asked as she felt little droplets of sweat tumbling down her brow. She spoke fast and her words were brimming with worry, but she couldn’t bring herself to calm down at the sight of Brienne, ill and unconscious and struggling in her sleep.  
The maester smiled and spoke gently, trying to reassure her. “It is vital for the temperature in here to be close to hers, otherwise she might have nightmares again, which would only weaken her body further. Podrick suggested the same thing, but it’s still not safe, it’s too cold outside.”  
She nodded, earnestly taking in the explanation. When she looked at Pod, she found comfort in his gaze; although clouded with agitation, it held some confidence, like he knew everything was going to be alright.  
_It will be. It’s Brienne, she’s strong and brave and she’ll make it without a doubt_ , Sansa thought, fighting to convince herself.  
The maester stood to his feet and bowed to her. “Samwell Tarly has suggested I read some books he brought from the Citadel; I’m confident I’ll find a cure to help her wake, if she doesn’t herself. If her heart maintains the same pace and she keeps sleeping peacefully there should be no problem, but should she show some sign of unrest, please send for me right away, my lady.” He offered Pod a nod of his head too and made for the door. “I know I’m leaving her in good hands”, he added, softly.  
The room fell silent for a while then, the slow popping sound of the logs filling up the place.  
Pod approached her shyly, walking around the bed to the chair where the maester had been sitting. She followed his figure with her eyes as he sat down. He gave her a sympathetic look, and then settled his tired gaze on Brienne as she slept.  
“We can be hopeful, lady Sansa”, he murmured, running a hand through his dark hair. He had let it grow since before the Long Night, she noticed; the curls fell at chin’s length, framing his jaw which was covered by a light stubble. It made him look completely different from the green, inexperienced squire he was when he and Brienne had rescued her from Ramsay’s men. But it wasn’t just his looks- he had started to behave more confidently towards the other men, as well. He had every right, seeing as now he was far more capable with a sword than most of the other swordsmen in Winterfell.  
Before the incident, he used to spend pretty much every day in the field, sparring with the children and teaching them new techniques. Now, however, he was constantly in that room, watching over Brienne.  
_We’re the same in this situation_ , Sansa thought. Both of them cared deeply for the lady knight, and were indebted to her to an unfathomable extent.  
“The maester has said she’ll be able to recover if she rests well enough; I have faith in her strength, you know. She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met”, he said, smiling a little.  
Sansa considered his words, searching her mind to see if she could think of anyone who could match her strength, but unsurprisingly she found no answer. She smiled briefly, but then another thought crossed her mind and her relief shattered. “When she wakes up… she will have to learn about the child.”  
Pod nodded, and hid his face in his hands for a moment. “That will be the worst thing she’ll have to go through, I’m certain. Losing a child before they’re even born is a hard blow on anyone, and knowing her, she’ll blame herself”, he sighed, the sorrow palpable in his voice, “but she’ll have us, and we will keep telling her it’s not her fault, and if we’re lucky, maybe, she’ll listen. It will take time, but this wound will heal, too.”  
“It’s possibly the worst wound she could suffer”, Sansa breathed.  
It was unfair. The maester had come to the conclusion that Brienne’s fainting and her falling into sleep had been induced by the loss of a child she didn’t know she was carrying. It was not uncommon for a child who was conceived during Winter to die before being born, the man had said; the repercussions on the woman’s body in those cases were diverse, but Brienne’s illness seemed to derive from that.  
_The Mother is unfair, if she has decided to inflict this loss on her. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve anything remotely bad._  
Her voice was lower than a whisper as she clutched Brienne’s hand tighter, searching for comfort, reassurance. “I wanted her to be happy, Pod. She has been my strength for so long, she has devoted her life to protecting me and Arya, and I thought it was finally her time to be happy, to think of herself, and now...”  
She felt a knot in her throat, but she swallowed, forcing it down. “And she was, I could see how happy she was, until that wretched bastard ran away and left her alone and if- if only I had been wiser, I never would have allowed him to get anywhere near her. I should have had him fed to those dragons. Gods, I hate him so much”.  
She lifted her head, catching Pod’s gaze, and noticed the squire’s baffled look. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and stopped herself, realising she had lost her composure and voiced her thoughts aloud; she shouldn’t have.

 _I’m so weak. Brienne is struggling to stay alive and I can do nothing but cry and weep like a little girl in front of her squire_.  
But she couldn’t help herself; just the thought of the Kingslayer was enough to make her blood boil. She wondered how she could have been so foolish as to trust him, letting him hurt Brienne and leave her to escape south; had he known she was carrying his child, maybe… but no, a man without honour such as he would probably have left her regardless.  
Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Pod shifting and a moment later his hand lay gently on her wrist, just above where she was still gripping Brienne’s hand. She felt the urge to pull hers back, but she didn’t, inhaling sharply instead.  
“Lady Sansa. You have to know that none of the things that happened are your fault”, Pod said, softly. “And if you’d let the Dragon Queen execute ser Jaime, my lady would have been devastated.”  
As he talked, Sansa couldn’t help but compare his tone to that of the first times he had spoken to her, long before. The stutter in his voice had vanished completely and now he sounded steadfast, mature; she let his voice calm her down a little, but still felt aware of his hand on her wrist.  
“Don’t get me wrong, I am furious too. in fact, if I ever see him again, I might even beat him up. It wouldn’t be too much of a challenge for me, since he’s old and he’s got one hand.”  
Sansa felt her lips crinkle into a faint smile as Pod continued, turning his eyes to Brienne. “You know, ser Brienne is the closest thing I have to a mother. I can tell you that when she loves, she does so deeply, with all of herself. She loves you, and your sister, and… yes, she loves Jaime Lannister, she has ever since I’ve known her. Of course she never mentioned it to me, because she wouldn’t, and I was way too naive at first to realise it myself, but I know now. And that is how I know that if you’d sent ser Jaime to his death, she would have been heartbroken.”  
_He hasn’t ever been worthy of her love, and never will be._  
Sansa steeled herself, letting a mask of ice slide down on her features. “Well, now I don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s probably dead somewhere, and rightfully so.”  
She could sense pain in her own voice as she said that. Brienne was ill, she had lost her child, and she had probably lost a person she loved, too. As miserable and horrid as that person was.  
Pod was visibly hurt at her cruel words, but his eyes showed that he understood her reasons.  
“You know, she never blamed him for leaving”, he told her.  
“What?”  
“She hasn’t talked much about it, of course, but when I tried to talk to her… she told me that it wasn’t his fault.”  
Sansa wasn’t able to hide the bewilderment in her eyes. “Surely you jest. He decided to leave, deserting her like the fool he is, how- how could she still defend him?” Her voice was higher than usual, confusion overpowering her for a moment.  
“That’s what I asked her, too. I was lost at that, and almost angry with her. But she just shook me off saying I didn’t understand.” Now his hand was again spearing through his hair, nervously, and Sansa almost wished he hadn’t pulled it away.  
“Loving a man like him, I will never understand”, she simply hissed, ignoring that feeling.  
“Well, as much as I would like to fully agree with you, he did save my life.” He withdrew the cloth from Brienne’s forehead, dipped it in the bucket of water beside her, and delicately wiped her brow again. “And more importantly, hers too- more than once.”  
The bear.  
Sansa knew that Brienne had a maiden’s heart. Although she was a fierce warrior, she didn’t despise the ways of a lady like Arya did, nor did she scoff at the legendary tales of knights and princesses in derision; in that light, she was much more like Sansa herself had been as a child. She had told her as much once, while trying to comfort her during their travel to Castle Black. She loved dances and music and she had told her about the celebrations they used to hold at Evenfall Hall on the first full moon of every summer, her blue eyes shining brightly as she lingered on every detail.  
The thought that a woman could both be a strong and brave fighter and have such a feminine and ladylike spirit had brought relief, resolution and a newfound strength to the scared girl she was; it had meant so much, and she had begun to look up to Brienne and take inspiration from her.  
So strong and fierce, and so delicate and feminine.  
Of course she would fall in love with a man who had saved her honour, rescued her from a bear, made her a knight, and fought myriads of dead men with her on top of it.  
_But why must that man be Jaime Lannister?_  
“I just wish she had chosen to love a more honourable man”, she muttered, squeezing Brienne’s hand tighter before releasing it. “That dolt doesn’t deserve her.”  
Pod’s low chuckle reverberated through the room. “You and I are alike, my lady”, he explained as she looked at him, bemused by his reaction. “I am glad there is someone who shares my feelings... and my desire to beat ser Jaime to the ground.”  
Sansa allowed herself to fully smile; there was still someone she could count on at Winterfell, after all.  
She and Pod shared a moment of silence then, carefully watching for any sign of discomfort on Brienne’s face.  
“You can get some rest if you wish”, she prompted after a while, noticing Pod was beginning to nod off. “I’m going to spend the night here, to be with her in case she wakes. Sam shall arrive soon, to be of assistance.”  
“I thank you, my lady, but I can stay here, I’m fine.”  
“You’ve been in here for days, Pod. I promise I will let you know if anything happens, but you need rest”, she said, almost surprised at the gentle tone of her own voice.  
The squire was reluctant to follow her advice, his worried gaze lingering on the features of his lady knight, but he gave in in the end, rising to walk to the door. Before he was out, Sansa’s voice betrayed her once more, speaking without her permission. “Pod”, she mused, catching his attention. “Thank you… for listening to me.”  
He gave her a smile, warmer than the room they were in, then opened the door and closed it behind him.  
Sansa dropped her shoulders slightly. She had shed her cloak right after she’d entered the chamber, and was now wearing only a light linen dress, but she still felt much too warm. She inspected Brienne’s clothes, finding that they were damp with sweat, so she rose and moved to change them with a clean tunic and breeches. As she undressed her, she noticed three long scars that started at the side of her neck and reached down to her breastbone, like the claws of some beast. _This must be the bear_ , she thought, and felt a shiver down her spine as she imagined just how enormous that creature must have been.  
After folding the soiled clothes, she put one more log into the fire and tucked herself more comfortably in the chair next to Brienne, sighing. “Oh, how I need you to wake up”, she said softly as she combed her short, straw-coloured hair with her fingers. “Jon is in danger, Arya has disappeared, and now the gods have decided that you must suffer, too. And I don’t know how I’ll survive if something happens to any of the three of you. I wish I could do something. Forgive me, Brienne, I’m so sorry, I’m useless.”  
She looked at her, so vulnerable and in pain. “I’ve needed you so many times, and the one time that you need me, I can’t do anything to help you.”  
The only thing she could do was sit and watch while other people told her just how critical the situation was. The maester, Sam, Podrick were all useful and had helped make sense of it all; even Gilly had offered her knowledge, recalling how one of her sisters had had the same symptoms after losing a babe that was still in her belly, during her time beyond the Wall, and yet Sansa could do nothing but stay with her, hoping she would wake day after day.  
Brienne muttered something in her sleep, drawing Sansa from her thoughts.  
_She is still dreaming_.  
Sansa drew the furs up towards Brienne’s chin, covering one arm but leaving the other exposed, like the maester had instructed, to prevent her temperature from rising again. Then, she fell back onto the chair, won over by her weariness. She let Brienne’s quiet murmurs lull her until she slowly drifted into sleep.

-

She woke as the door creaked open behind her and a frantic guard, ser Edric Assel, came rushing in. “Lady Sansa!”  
Almost falling off her chair, Sansa opened her eyes to see Samwell Tarly examining Brienne’s body.  
“Pardon me, my lady, there’s… at the gates...”  
She eyed the guard, confused, as a flood of horrible thoughts poured over her mind. Judging by the man’s sudden inability to form coherent words, something serious must have happened. She tried to ask for clarification as she threw her cloak back on, but the guard just gestured to follow him, so she did, glancing at Sam to silently ask him to tend to Brienne while she was away and then exiting the chambers.  
Outside, she realised it was still night time and felt disoriented; the windows in Brienne’s chambers, still shut, had made her assume it was already dawn.  
The walk from the castle to the gates helped wash away her sleepiness, and so did the dense snowflakes descending heavily, seeming more like raindrops. The heat on her skin, caused by the constant warmth of the fireplace, vanished quickly as the cold, brisk air of the night surrounded her, making her shiver. Sansa pulled at her fur cloak, covering herself up to her nose.  
She caught sight of the opened gates and picked up her pace. Why weren’t they closed? She had given the order to keep them closed during the night. One was never too careful.  
As she drew closer, her eyes put two figures and a horse, illuminated by the torches, into focus: she disregarded the guard and brought her attention towards the second, hunched figure, a dark brown blotch submerged in the white scenery. The bay horse stood beside it, acting like a sort of walking cane for the shape, which clearly couldn’t stand on its own feet.  
It hit her then, just who that nameless shape must be. She was still too far away to confirm what her gut was telling her, but she was sure nonetheless.  
She stopped in her tracks, her leather boots halting as the edge of her coat brushed the snow beneath. Some red strands of hair had stuck to her forehead, wet by the melted snow, and the glacial cold burned over her face, but she didn’t pay it any mind.  
Her breath hitched and she pressed her lips together, allowing one minuscule hint of emotion to show over her face for an instant, then she steeled herself, approaching the guard, the horse and the third, battered figure in the distance.  
Jaime Lannister.  
Ser Edric had preceded her and was now standing across from the other guard, ser Bretton, both of them eyeing warily the man who was leaning against his mount.  
No words left her mouth as she met his gaze, looking down at him. He was taller than her, but now he was hunched and couldn’t stand properly, so she towered over him, menacing as she intended to be. She shot him a ferocious glare, but he didn’t return it, instead looking at her with weary green eyes. For a moment she thought she’d seen a silent question in his eyes as he looked at the space next to her, squinting, but then he blinked and returned his gaze to her.  
The melted snow had darkened his hair and beard and what could be seen of his face was covered in bruises, presumably due to the cutting cold. His left hand clutched the saddle of his mount, while the handless arm rested against it for support. He looked exhausted, but he was alive; the fact struck her abruptly, putting in motion a duel of opposite feelings inside her. She hated seeing him, hated that he had come back, his tired eyes and his worn-out figure. She hated that he wasn’t dead, but that was a good thing. Yes, because he was alive and Brienne wouldn’t have to face another loss when she would wake; she could be spared that pain, at least.  
The man opened his mouth to speak, but she could only catch a glimpse of his hoarse voice before one of the guards cut him off. “My lady Sansa has not granted you the right to speak, Kingslayer”, he spat, almost startling her. She had forgotten the two northmen were even there.  
She remained silent, waiting for him to try to speak again. Unsurprisingly, he did.  
“Has she granted _you_ said right, Bretton?”  
His voice was low and harsh, and Sansa could tell that it hurt him to speak. Yet he had opened his mouth to utter a foolish jape, like the fool he was. The thought made her grit her teeth in annoyance.  
“Ser Bretton, pay no mind to the Kingslayer’s japes. Surely he must know it’s in his best interest not to anger me, seeing as he came back here after leaving without so much as saying goodbye.”  
She saw his lips twitch in a smirk. “I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness, lady Stark. I had some matters to attend to.”  
“Yet you are here.”  
“You do not seem pleased with that.”  
She scoffed. What an enormous understatement. “How did you get my guards to open the gates for you? I had ordered them to keep them closed.”  
“I banged my fist on this wretched door and screamed until they were annoyed enough to let me in and hope to murder me”, he shrugged, obviously feigning indifference.  
“What is it that you are doing here, exactly? Do you perchance long to be murdered by ser Bretton and ser Edric?”  
“Oh no, they wouldn’t be able to”, he laughed, ogling the two men, “I’ve seen them fight the dead. They’d be no match, not even for a cripple such as I.”  
_He has no shame. He is so exhausted that my men could kill him this instant, and yet here he is, mocking them so lightly._  
Sansa’s gaze was fixed onto that foolish excuse for a man, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the two knights shifting, grabbing the hilts of their swords. With a swift movement of her gloved hand, she stilled them, although she felt the strong desire to let them butcher him right there and then. She lifted her chin a little, encouraging him to continue speaking at his own risk, and he took her warning.  
“I would like to see ser Brienne of Tarth, if it pleases my lady”, he mused, flaunting confidence, that smug grin never leaving his features.  
Sansa swallowed. She knew it was coming. Of course he would want to see Brienne; she would be the only one he could use to worm his way back into Winterfell, for whatever reason.  
She stayed silent, wondering what more the Kingslayer could possibly want to do there. Was he sent by Queen Cersei? Did he want to destroy her family, slaughter her and Bran to please his sister? But then, why hadn’t he done so when he had the chance?  
After the lack of a reply on her part, he continued. “...Actually, even if it doesn’t please you, I must see her. If you do not wish for me to enter your home, just send for her.”  
The mask of confidence that coated his words was solid, but Sansa felt it was beginning to shatter, as though he was starting to doubt the effectiveness of his own plan.  
As much as she wanted to, she didn’t know the circumstance of his and Brienne’s parting. The lady knight had hardly mentioned anything, and although Sansa could see the sorrow in Brienne’s eyes every time she had brought him up, she did not know why ser Jaime had left. Nonetheless, she didn’t trust him. She could not trust anyone who would knowingly hurt Brienne.  
And Brienne should never have trusted him, either, she thought. Pod’s words nagged at her mind, but she didn’t want to give them credit. How could Brienne still trust him?  
Her eyes wandered over his figure, still struggling to stand. He had probably journeyed for long, but it seemed like he didn’t care, like he didn’t even know how tired he was.  
She noticed his eyes were no longer weary. Rather, they held a hint of suspect as they searched her face, trying to understand why she wasn’t answering his demands.  
He dropped the act then, no longer bothering to hide his impatience. “Why is she not with you?” his voice sounded strained.  
“Ser Brienne is asleep, you must notice it is the middle of the nig-”  
“Horseshit. She follows you around everywhere, all the bloody time. Why is she not here?”  
Sansa’s lips parted slightly as she realised he was starting to panic. He spoke fast, darting his green eyes around everywhere, demanding an answer, and Sansa could find no reason to explain his behaviour, if he truly only wanted to use Brienne as a means to enter Winterfell.  
She turned to face the two guards. “Ser Edric, ser Bretton. Please leave me with the Kingslayer.”  
They seemed outraged. “My lady, surely you jest. This man is dangerous, we can’t-”  
“I appreciate your concern, but do not fear. He won’t hurt me, not without a sword.” She eyed the hilt of Widow’s Wail, waiting. The Kingslayer groaned, unsheathed it and then tossed it on the ground in front of her. “Take it, if it means I get an explanation.”  
Ser Edric picked up the weapon, its dark grey, menacing blade glistening in the moonlight, and together with ser Bretton they walked back. The sound of their steps was muffled by the snow as they moved away, leaving Sansa alone in front of Jaime Lannister, whose eyes were now wide, all his tiredness seemingly vanished into thin air.  
Neither of them spoke for a while; it was the calm before the storm. The space between them had turned into a snowy arena and they could well have been two beasts, circling one another, ready to jump at each other’s throats. The lion and the wolf.  
Making the best of the tension that had formed, she spoke first. “Why do you wish to see her?”  
“ _Why?_ Why do you think?” He spat, hoarse.  
“It seems to me you have no good reason. You left her here, after all.”  
“I do not intend to explain my past actions to you, lady Stark- not when I’ve journeyed a fortnight just to attempt to fix them.”  
“Then our conversation shall be over.”  
“Tell me what happened”, he insisted. She held her breath, wondering how he had figured out that something was wrong.  
“ _Tell. Me._ ”  
His eyes were almost roaring, but Sansa could discern a desperate trace in his voice, a trace that turned his harsh words into desperate pleading. If she observed close enough, she could see the same trace in his gaze, as well.  
His restless, agitated state confused her; she had never seen him like that. He hadn’t even begged for his life at his own trial. It was strange, out of place, it didn’t make sense compared to his self-satisfied personality.  
Until it did.  
It dawned on her suddenly, the realisation so simple she wondered how she could have been so foolish as to overlook it. It was clear, crystal clear, the reason for his frantic behaviour. And although she was loathe to admit it, it only made him look... pitiful.  
_So it’s like this._  
The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. “Ser Jaime Lannister. I grant you permission to visit Brienne’s chambers, but you will need to be escorted by a guard of my choosing the whole time. You are not allowed any questions.”  
She didn’t know why exactly her realisation had prompter her to let him in. It didn’t change the way he had behaved in the past, nor the fact that he was still a threat to her and her family.  
But he was so helpless and desperate that Sansa could somehow see herself in him, and sympathise with him, as impossible as that sounded.  
She saw him swallow, some of the agitation stilling, leaving his eyes. He looked like a child who had just been scolded and forgiven by a parent, both irritated and thankful at the same time.  
There was indeed something childish about his features; he had started to relax, releasing a relieved breath, but he was still gripping the saddle fiercely. “I assume I can at least talk to her?”  
Sansa inhaled sharply. She turned towards the castle, dipped her head slightly. “No one can”, she couldn’t help but mutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries wildly* I just wish my babies Jaime and Sansa could get along,,  
> I'm sorry the guards have lame names, it's all I could come up with.  
> Also what happened there between Sansa and Pod? I don't know honestly, but they work well together.  
> I hope you liked this chapter, I'm sorry for any mistakes, English is not my mother tongue.  
> Next time: Jaime tries to find out what happened to his lady knight. Look forward to it!  
> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think. Till next time!


End file.
